A Kind Of Magic
by Jade1990
Summary: A heartbroken Harry thinks his happiness lies at the bottom of a bottle. With the help of his two best friends Harry must learn to face his problems, learn to trust again and maybe open his heart to love. Eventual H/Hr with lots of trio friendship. This is non-epilogue compliant. I do not own anything relating to Harry Potter *sob* - all bow down to the wonderful J.K.Rowling.
1. One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer

**Author's note: **_Just to be clear, this is a Weasley friendly story! However, there may be a few comments about a certain Weasley at the beginning, but that's due to the situation at hand and they're pretty mild. __  
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_This will be a Harry/Hermione romance fic eventually, but also focuses a lot on the friendship between the Golden Trio.  
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_Also, everything in the books happened except for the epilogue!_

_So, to sum up, this is a Weasley-friendly Harmony fic... I hope you enjoy it :)_

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**1. One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer**

_14__th__ December 2005_

Harry's head is splitting; he hasn't felt pain like this in over seven years. This time, however, there's no Dark Lord to hold responsible, only himself and the two bottles of Fire Whiskey he finished off the night before. His agony is further amplified by his best friend and roommate slamming every drawer and cupboard she can lay her hands on. "Merlin, Hermione," he groans, "can't you be a _little _quieter?" He's rewarded with a withering glare, but at least she ceases clattering about and, instead, joins him at the kitchen table.

She sits with her arms folded across her chest and a look on her face worthy of Professor McGonagall; he's in no mood for a lecture so he merely rests his head on his arms and hopes she takes the hint. She doesn't. "Really, Harry" each word is like a stab to his brain, "this is the third morning this week that you've been hung-over. Do you expect me to be sympathetic when your misery is all your own doing? Do you think drinking yourself into a stupor all the time is setting a good example to your Godson? Or does he not matter anymore? Andie says you haven't called him all week, he's very upset Harry, he thinks he's done something wrong!"

If he's honest with himself, he stopped listening after her first question. It's whistling round and round his head and he can feel his temper rising and fighting to get the better of him. If he were in his right mind, and didn't still have half the contents of his latest drinking session swirling around in his bloodstream, he'd know Hermione was purely talking about his hangover, and nothing else, but he's not in his right mind and before he can stop himself he's mirroring her pose and answering her back in a tone that leaves her eyebrows almost kissing her hairline. "I'm _sorry, _Hermione" he spits out, "I'm sorry I've proven to be _such _a disappointment to you. I'm sorry I'm not the _'chosen one' _anymore," he talks over her protestations, "I'm sorry that the love of my life decided she'd rather shack up with a bloody Slytherin, with _Malfoy"_ he hisses the name through gritted teeth "than marry me!"

He slumps back into the chair he can't remember vacating; all his energy spent and his anger quickly turning to tears. He doesn't bother hiding them from Hermione; she's seen him in much worse states. "I'm sorry" he sobs, "I'm so, so sorry". He hears, more than sees, Hermione leave her own chair and make her way around the table to crouch in front of him. She tugs on his wrists, her soft hands cool against his clammy skin, until he turns in his chair to face her. "Don't you _ever _call yourself a disappointment, Harry," she says in a low, strong voice, "you could never be any such thing! You've been through so much that you don't deserve and I'm sorry for what I said, you know I didn't...I didn't mean it like that, Harry. I guess I'm just used to you dealing with everything in a, well a less _alcohol fuelled _manner. Honestly Harry," she gently wipes the tears off his cheeks before holding his face between her hands so he has to look her in the eyes, "it scares me to see you like this and, well, I don't know how to help you. Tell me, Harry, tell me what I can do to make this better."

The earnestness and concern in her chocolate eyes would break his heart if there was anything left to be broken, but he can't bring himself to give into her comfort. He stands abruptly, almost knocking her over in the process, and whispers, "Just leave me alone, Hermione. That's what you can do for me; just leave me alone." He walks away before she can protest; straight out of the front door, not even pausing to put his shoes on, and sets off up the street.

He's sure he'll regret his hastiness later, as the snow soaks his socked feet and the falling flakes and the mid-morning frost dampens his sparse clothing. He waits until he's at the end of the road, and he's almost sure there are no Muggles around, before he apparates to Hogsmeade. He bypasses The Three Broomsticks, as has become his custom, and makes his way to the Hog's Head.

Despite the interest it received following the war, thanks to its contribution to students under the Death Eaters' rule and the Battle of Hogwarts, it still maintains an air of abandon and more than a few cobwebs. There are only two other patrons in the bar when Harry enters shaking the white flakes from his hair. He receives only a cursory glance from the old man nearest the door before he returns to staring into his tumbler; presumably the answer to all of life's problems is at the bottom of it.

The only other person in the dingy room is one whom Harry could really do without seeing. An oily, smarmy little voice in his head hisses, "_Red hair, and a hand-me-down robe; you must be a _Weasley". The Weasley in question doesn't look round when the door slams shut behind Harry; he only pats the stool next to him and slides a bottle of Butterbeer into Harry's line of sight. The dark-haired wizard snorts at the choice of beverage but slides onto the stool and takes a large gulp of the warm liquid, regardless.

"So" the redhead starts, "fancy seeing you here." He's wearing a maroon jumper that can only be described as a 'Mrs Weasley special'; Harry wonders if he's getting his use out of it before the next one is issued in a couple of weeks. Ron lightly nudges his shoulder, interrupting Harry's musings, and states, "Mate, I think you've forgotten your shoes." Harry smiles a little, although it comes out as more of a grimace, and doesn't protest when his oldest friend mumbles some simple spells to dry his clothes; he's particularly grateful for the one that makes his socks as toasty warm as if they'd been hanging by the fire.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Ron ventures, when he realises Harry's not going to offer any information off his own back. The Boy-Who-Won merely shrugs his shoulders before offering up his own query, "Do you want to talk about how you knew where to find me?" Ron's cheeks turn a similar shade to his jumper and soon he's just one giant mass of sheepishly embarrassed red. "You know", Harry continues, "I thought that once you and Hermione broke up, I wouldn't have to deal with you both ganging up on me anymore. Clearly, I was mistaken." He gulps down the rest of his butterbeer and turns on his stool until he's fully facing his friend. His head feels a little clearer now which allows him to enjoy Ron's squirming and spluttering excuses.

Harry finally takes pity on him and sighs, "If you must know," he turns back to the bar and starts playing with his empty bottle, "I feel like shit. I thought, _finally, _I thought everything was falling in to place. I was looking to the future, a future I was going to share with G-, with _her." _He hasn't been able to say her name since their relationship ended, _since she dumped me _he thinks, bitterly. "I don't know what to do now," he continues, his voice dull and emotionless, "All these plans we had; places we'd visit, how many children we'd have, well, they're all nothing now. I don't know what to do anymore." Ron stays silent, partly because he knows Harry needs to get this out but also because he really doesn't know what to say to him. "I mean, why did she do it? And with _him; Malfoy." _That's the crux of it, Ron thinks; it's not so much what his sister's done that's eating Harry up, although that's bad enough as it is, but it's who she's done it with. The thought sends an unpleasant shiver down Ron's spine but he tries to repress his disgust and focus on his best friend, he's already had this all out with Ginny anyway.

"Was I that much of a rubbish boyfriend", Harry continues, "that even _he _was preferable? What did I do wrong? I thought we were happy", the last bit is whispered so quietly that the redhead has to strain to hear it. The pain and defeat radiating from his best friend is enough that all of Ron's previous anger at his sister and _that rat _comes bubbling back to the surface. He clenches his hands around the bottle in front of him and takes three deep breaths, in an attempt to control his emotions, before downing the rest of his drink.

He suddenly thinks that butterbeer is just not going to cut it and, so, he shouts through to Abe to get them some fire whiskey. He quashes the disapproving voice in his head, that sounds suspiciously like his ex-girlfriend, and decides that tomorrow can be for talking about feelings and making plans; today they'll get wasted and just forget about his _bloody_ sister and her new _bloody _boyfriend.

As Ron tries to encourage Aberforth to join them, Harry takes a large gulp of his drink; the liquid burns its way down his throat and almost instantly allows a pleasant fuzziness to engulf his head. As his gaze locks with a pair of icy blue eyes he feels himself falling back down memory lane, into evenings spent in a large office discussing Voldemort, or the Tri-Wizard Tournament, or his Godfather. Those eyes have often haunted his dreams over the years, although they were set in a different face, but recently his dreams had been pleasant and images of his dead friends, family and classmates had been mostly absent. He wonders if they'll start making their presence known again, now he's fallen back into a misery that permeated him in the years following the war; he doesn't want to find out just yet so he downs the rest of his drink, enjoying the burning sensation and mental cloudiness that comes with it.

They've polished off three bottles between them, and have imposed upon Aberforth's hospitality for far too long, when Hermione eventually turns up. Even with Harry's blurred vision he can tell she's angry. He feels a smug, _drunken, _little grin stretch across his lips as he realises it's not _him _she's angry at, but the redhead snoring on the table next to him. "Ronald!" she shouts, startling him awake. "Wh-wh, eh?" Ron stutters, looking round wildly until his unsteady gaze falls on Hermione, his face blanching rapidly. The young witch stands with her hands on her hips, and a scowl on her face, reminding Harry too much of the Weasley matriarch; he can't fight the giggles bubbling up in him and they burst out before he can stop himself, soon Ron is joining him and both are blissfully ignorant to their friend's increasing impatience.

It's with great difficulty that Hermione gets them back to Grimmauld Place, her task impeded further by Ron falling back asleep mid-apparition. Eventually she gets them both dry and settled in Harry's room, ignoring Harry's protests that he can't share a bed with another Weasley, and takes herself off to her own bed. It's a little early for her to retire but she's had a trying day and thinks she deserves the repose. She grumbles to herself as she remembers her long and tearful talk with Ginny; she feels torn in her loyalties, which doesn't sit well with her. She's known for a while that Ginny was unhappy in the relationship and that she wanted out, but she'd had no idea about Malfoy, and she'd certainly had no idea that Harry was going to propose! She doesn't blame Ginny, exactly, for wanting to find happiness, for falling out of love, she knows herself how it can happen, but she _does _blame her for going behind Harry's back and letting him believe everything was rosy and good.

She can only imagine how Mrs Weasley, the biggest champion of the match, is feeling about the break-up and she wonders how difficult it will make future gatherings; this coming Christmas, in particular, is going to be _interesting _to say the least. It was awkward enough when she and Ron split, she felt for a long time that she would never be welcome at the Burrow again, and for a little while she believes Mrs Weasley was of a similar mind. This is different though, she concludes, in this scenario the split was orchestrated by a Weasley rather than another party, so Harry can't really be held solely responsible, and they've always had a closer bond with him anyway. She falls into a restless sleep filled with dreams of redheaded children chasing her through a maze and Harry falling off the Astronomy tower. After she wakes up for the third time feeling confused and distraught she decides to take a leaf out of her friends' book, and makes herself a nightcap of fire whiskey; her sleep is dreamless after that.


	2. Ladies Choice

**Author's note: **_Very, very sorry for the delay with this chapter, I didn't have much inspiration until I watched the Spice Girls documentary, for some bizarre reason (not that the Spice Girls have anything at all to do with this chapter, or the story in general). _

_Anyway, I hope this turned out okay. Enjoy :) (and Merry Christmas)._

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**2. Ladies Choice**

_21__st__ December 2005_

She's not sure what to expect as she makes her way downstairs; maybe she'll find her roommate deep in conversation with an owl, or a trail of sherbet lemons leading to a makeshift bed in the sitting room, or maybe even another blonde muggle dazed and confused as to whether the portrait on the stairs is actually talking to her, or if she's just still drunk. Instead, Hermione is confronted with her tousle-haired best friend dancing barefoot around the kitchen, clad in only a pair of jeans, and singing the Hogwarts school song almostcompletely in tune. He hasn't looked so young and carefree, _or well put together, _in such a long time that she's loathe to disturb him, instead she leans against the doorframe quietly humming along with him.

After one particularly inspired spin he finally spots her in the doorway, and it's a testament to their friendship that he's not embarrassed in the slightest. Instead he taps on the radio before sauntering over to her and offering her his hand. She misses the twinkle in his eyes as her own are drawn a little further south; she feels her cheeks burning up as she takes in his toned chest and stomach, his jeans riding a little too low without the belt he usually pairs with them. She drags her eyes back up to his face and tries to convince herself the butterflies in her stomach are purely because it's been years since she's danced with anyone of the opposite sex, and they have nothing to do with her incredibly delectable, _and half naked,_ best friend.

He's improved a lot since their school days, he even adds in a few spins and dips that do nothing for her current state. After a few moments he brings them to a standstill and she finds herself getting lost in his bright green eyes; she can feel herself moving closer to him and her head seems to be tilting towards him of its own accord when he brings his left hand up and moves an errant strand of hair behind her ear before whispering, "I think the sausages are done". "Yes", she breathes out, "wait-what?" He laughs and steps away from her, heading towards the stove where she notices the frying pan for the first time. She takes the few seconds he spends turned away from her trying to compose herself, and praying her cheeks return to their normal colour, before he settles two plates topped with sausage on toast onto the kitchen table. Harry seems blissfully unaware of the embarrassment pulsating from her every pore as he wolfs down his breakfast, and she's mercifully grateful when he informs her he has to rush off as he's going to pick Teddy up and take him to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, where Santa will be making a special appearance. Muggle traditions sky-rocketed in the years after the war, despite the fact their muggle-raised hero experienced very few of them, and Santa was such a huge hit that he even made a surprise appearance last summer.

Twenty minutes later Harry's floo-ing over to Andromeda's; he's no sooner stepped out of the fireplace before his scraggly little Godson is flinging himself into his arms. Harry feels a pang of guilt as the hair tickling his face turns from mousy brown into an array of bright colours before settling on a green that's somewhat akin to the eyes observing it. Andromeda watches the scene from a little distance; it's the first time in almost two weeks that she's seen her grandson smile. If he were anyone else she'd berate Harry for causing her precious boy so much misery, but she knows no one will make Harry feel as guilty as he'll make himself feel, probably more so than he deserves. Instead she fetches Teddy's coat, knowing they don't need her intruding on their reunion anymore than she has to, and sends them off on their way.

Harry hasn't been out since his break up, well not whilst sober anyway, and he's wishing they'd chosen somewhere quieter to go. Diagon Alley is full of witches and wizards buying last minute presents, harassed parents trying to keep their children in order whilst queuing outside Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and traders trying to flog tatty jumpers with moving animals on to poor souls unlucky enough to pass close to them. Harry tries to ignore the whispers that follow him down the street; they're a little harder to ignore once he's ensconced in the queue with excitable youngsters pointing at him, and their mothers staring a little too provocatively. He thinks it's safe assume that the news of the dissolution of his relationship is now widespread. He tries to keep his attention focused solely on his giddy Godson but it's proving a difficult feat as he can feel one middle-aged _lady _pressing up against him and simpering in his ear, "I'm so sorry, Mr Potter, they're all pushing behind", he's sure this is quite untrue but he's saved from confronting her by the appearance of a tall redhead. "Blimey Harry", George exclaims, "what on earth are you waiting out here for?" Before he can form an answer George has swung a giggling Teddy onto his shoulders and is dragging Harry past the stream of people and pushing through the doors shouting, a little unnecessarily in Harry's opinion, "Make way, make way! War hero coming through! Step aside now, make room! Come on, he defeated Voldemort for Merlin's sake, show a little respect will you!" Harry tries to apologise as he's dragged along, whilst attempting to fend off the grasp of one particularly large and determined woman who either wants to kiss him or strangle him, he's not entirely sure.

George eventually plonks the pair at the front of the queue, before disappearing back into the crowd. Harry's left red-faced, staring at a curly-haired young wizard wearing bunny ears and elf shoes, _he supposes they can't get everything right_. The boy has no qualms about staring, and Harry is determined not to turn around and face the army of people he's just, unwillingly, pushed in front of, so he's left in an awkwardly long staring contest with George's employee whilst Teddy excitedly swings their hands between them and let's his hair shift between every colour in the rainbow. Finally, after an obscenely long time, the curtain behind the boy opens, and Harry finds himself face-to-face with a more appropriately dressed elf. This one, however, leaves Harry feeling like he's been punched in the gut. Teddy lets out a squeal of excitement at her arrival before confusedly asking, "Aunt Ginny, when did you start working for Santa?"

It takes a few moments for Ginny to realise Teddy is talking to her; she drops her gaze from Harry's pained expression and crouches in front of the seven-year old, "Well Pumpkin," she laughs as he changes his hair colour to suit her nickname, "One of Santa's usual elves had a bit too much firewhiskey, so he asked me to fill in". Teddy giggles at her explanation and takes her proffered hand, following her into the newly set-up grotto. He rushes off to Santa, who looks suspiciously like a padded out Mr Weasley, leaving his guardian and the youngest Weasley standing in an awkward silence. Ginny wonders if Hermione's been exaggerating Harry's misery, he certainly doesn't look like a shadow of his former self; in fact, with a hint of stubble lining his face, and his tight-fitting blue jumper, he's looking better than ever.

"So", her voice isn't as controlled as she'd like, when she finally finds it, "how have you been?" She winces as the question leaves her mouth and she doesn't have to look at him to know the muscle in his jaw is hopping like crazy as he fights not to let his temper get the better of him. She does sneak a peek though; he's always looked ridiculously sexy when he's mad. She feels a little guilty for thinking of him like that, when he's obviously still incredibly hurt over what she did, but then she's hurt too; _it wasn't exactly an easy decision _she silently fumes, _despite what he might think! _His determined silence starts to grate on her as the seconds tick by, and she tries to focus all her attention on Teddy's sweet voice as he rattles off his list of requests; she figures she's staring a little too hard when her father's concerned gaze finds her over the preposterous white beard he's magically attached to his face. She unclenches her white-knuckled hands and takes a step away from her ex to try and control her raging emotions. Harry leaves without uttering a word to her and she's grateful when her father suggests waiting a few moments before ushering the next child in.

Harry tries hard not to let the surprising, _and painful, _encounter with his ex spoil the rest of his day with Teddy. He takes him for food and buys him plenty of sweets, that they have to eat before they get back to Andie's, but he thinks Teddy can tell his mind's elsewhere, if his lacklustre hair colour is anything to go by. It's with a heavy heart that Harry hands the subdued little boy back to his grandmother; he tries to apologise to Andromeda but the older woman merely sends him on his was with a pitying smile.

He doesn't head back to Grimmauld Place, although he knows Hermione will be waiting to hear how the day went. Instead, he floos straight to an abandoned shop, which was once the famous Borgin and Burke's. Knockturn Alley has been relatively deserted since the war; most who shopped there are too scared of the consequences to be seen lurking around, it's thought many of the shops have relocated but the Ministry is having a hard time tracking them down. Harry stumbles out into the darkened street and heads in the direction he's sure an old pub once stood. He walks past the place three times before he realises the sign he's looking for has been pulled down and hurled behind a bin. He enters the ransacked bar and scrambles around in the dark until he finds a half full bottle of some foreign-sounding liquid hidden under a table. The drink seems to literally burn a fiery trail down to his stomach and it takes all of his willpower to take a second mouthful of it.

After the third large gulp he collapses into a half conscious slump next to an upturned barstool; images of Ginny at Bill and Fleur's wedding, fighting in the Battle of Hogwarts, laughing by the Black Lake and sharing his bed flit hazily through his mind. He can't seem to keep one long enough to bring it into focus but he knows she looks beautiful in all of them. He can feel tears slipping down his face but his arms are too heavy to lift and wipe them away. He's assaulted with these hazy visions for a long time before other start to invade too; visions of his best friends that are clearer and more real than the others. He sees Ron's terrified face as Mr Weasley's old Ford Anglia battles with Aragog's offspring on their behalf, Hermione kissing him on the cheek for the first time as they stand in a packed King's Cross station with everyone looking on, the three of them helping to restore Hagrid's hut after the war, Hermione leaning in to him this morning, eyes hooded with an emotion he's never witnessed in her before. His brow crinkles in confusion as Hermione appears before him, dressed in an elf outfit and bunny ears, hands placed on her hips in a way that certainly _doesn't _remind him of Mrs Weasley. He wants to ask her what she's doing but his tongue feels heavy in his mouth and she's winking in and out of his vision so that he can't quite tell whether he's blinking or she's repeatedly apparating just to give him a headache, _he wouldn't put it past her._ He thinks it's remarkable she's managed to stand there so long without scolding him, but he doesn't have much time to ponder the mystery as darkness tries to engulf his mind and he lets it, mainly to escape the pounding in his head and the uncomfortable tightness in his jeans.


	3. Mistletoe and Wine

**Author's note: **_My apologies for any mistakes in this chapter; I'm on drowsiness-inducing medicine at the minute and it's addling my brain a little. _

_Anyway, I'll try and get the next chapter up as soon as possible. Hope you enjoy this one :)_

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**3. Mistletoe and Wine**

_25__th__ December 2005_

Harry's rudely awakened by a pair of stomping feet crashing past his room; his first reaction is to curse Dudley to Hell and back, until he realises he no longer lives with the Dursleys, and he hasn't seen his cousin in a number of years. He fumbles blindly for his glasses and, once his eyes have adjusted to the weak sunlight streaming through the window, he checks the time. _Bollocks, _he thinks, _it's nearly time. _Cursing himself now, he jumps out of bed and starts pulling random clothes onto his body before realising he hasn't yet removed the ones from the night before.

Once he's finally presentable in his black jeans and red jumper, complete with snowy owl that remarkably resembles his beloved Hedwig, he starts making his way downstairs only to be accosted halfway down by a flustered and bushy-haired Hermione. "Morning, Harry. You're just in time", she beams at him. "In time for breakfast?" he ventures, hopefully. Hermione merely pats him on the arm, and says, "I've always loved your sense of humour", before dragging him up two flights of stairs and into her bedroom.

Harry stares aghast at the sight before him, "Blimey, Hermione, has Santa relocated his workshop?" The young wizard earns himself a glare before his roommate almost disappears amongst a pile of neatly wrapped gifts with intricate bows and ribbons on. "Do you not think", he gasps, as Hermione starts piling packages into his arms, "that you may have gone a little overboard here?" "Not at all", he hears above the rummaging, "don't forget, Harry, I never got to give anyone presents last year, what with visiting my parents and all". "You mean, what with Molly banning you from the house", he mumbles. "What was that?" is the sharp reply. Harry clears his throat and says, "I said, you still bought everyone presents; just because you didn't get to hand them out in person doesn't mean you have to buy twice as many now". He can practically hear the cogs whirring in her brain as she tries to conjure an excuse for her materialistic approach to making peace but, after a few moments of silence, all she can come up with is an irritated, "Oh, shut up Harry".

Harry chuckles to himself as he manoeuvres his way down three flights of stairs, ever mindful of Crookshanks who takes it upon himself to make Harry's task as difficult as possible by winding his body around the wizard's legs. He's quite proud of himself when he reaches the ground floor unscathed; he even manages to stick his tongue out at a disinterested Crookshanks before his jaw drops at the stacks of presents gathered at the bottom of the stairs. He sets his own pile down carefully before staring in wonder at the packages before him. Some of these are not wrapped as neatly as the others, nor are they adorned with ribbons or bows; not like Hermione at all. Before he can investigate further, his best friend clomps down the stairs and he turns to see her wearing a sheepish grin and carrying only two small handbags. He raises his eyebrows in disbelief, in response to which she only giggles, "You know, sometimes I forget I'm a witch. Here", she chucks a glittery blue bag at him, "the scruffy ones are yours", before carefully placing the remaining presents into her own, less glittery, handbag.

"All of these are for me?" Harry gapes. "Erm, well, actually, they're not _for _you, exactly, they're..._off _you". Harry's green eyes go from shocked to confused and Hermione's forced to elaborate, "You've been in such a state these past few weeks, and I know you haven't done any Christmas shopping yourself, so, I, well I did it for you", she finishes a little breathlessly. "Merlin, Hermione", his gaze flits between the gifts and his best friend before he grabs the latter in a fierce hug, eliciting a startled yelp from the young witch, "What would I do without you?" "Oh", she laughs, "suffer endlessly, I'm sure".

Upon nearing the ramshackle house, that the Weasleys had never had the heart to renovate, the pair start to slow their pace, before coming to a stop near the swamp. Hermione can feel butterflies fluttering about in her stomach as the apprehension she'd managed to quash all morning starts to make itself known. Although she's long since made her peace with the Weasley clan, including her ex-boyfriend, she's neither seen nor spoken to Mrs Weasley in over a year and a half; their last meeting was tense and tearful, with the red-headed matriarch making it more than clear that Hermione was not in her good books. Ron has since convinced her that she's been forgiven for breaking his heart, but his mother's too proud to make the first move. She drags herself from her musings and chances a glance at her friend; she's dazed when she turns to find two intense green eyes boring into her own, filled with concern. "You ready?" Harry asks. She tilts her head and lets a small smile grace her lips, "Are _you_?" He extends one un-gloved hand to her and offers a smile of his own before whispering, "Together?" She slips her own hand into his and they set off towards the Burrow swinging their hands between them.

The atmosphere in the Burrow is as welcoming and chaotic as ever and once Hermione and Mrs Weasley have finished their tearful reunion, they leave Harry to the mercy of Bill and Fleur's daughter, Dominique, who insists he come play dollies with her. He tries hard to focus on the little girl's elaborate rules for her game but he can't help his gaze flitting between the numerous redheads, searching for one, in particular. He eventually spots her helping Charlie set the table and his heart flips a little as he notes how stunning she looks in her navy, figure-hugging dress. It briefly crosses his mind that she's maybe a little overdressed for Christmas dinner, and he wonders, a little too hopefully, if she's trying to impress him. The thought's no sooner crossed him mind when an all too familiar blonde glides up beside her and snakes an arm around her back, whispering in her ear and eliciting a throaty chuckle that leaves Harry gripping a bleach blonde Barbie doll a little too tightly, causing Dominique to screech at him and ban him from playing with her ever again.

As soon as he gets the chance, Harry tracks down Ron to the kitchen and clips him around the back of the head, hissing, "Thanks for warning me, _mate!" _Ron gives his best wounded deer impression, imploring, "Honestly, Harry, I had no idea he'd be here. I almost hexed him in to next week when I saw him on the doorstep; I don't want him here anymore than you do!" Harry can readily believe this and decides to let sleeping dragons lie, just praying that, for dinner, he's sat as far away from the lovebirds as possible.

Mercifully, Mrs Weasley has the good sense to place Harry, Ron and Hermione at one end of the table, by her husband, whilst she takes it upon herself to withstand the awkwardness of young Mr Malfoy's company. Apart from her daughter, none of her children have paid him any attention, discounting the steely glares they've been throwing at him, and she knows it's upsetting Ginny, so she vows to make a little effort, hoping the others will follow suit. After a few stumbling questions about his parents, his current activities, and his plans for the future, Molly gives it up as a bad decision, and turns her attention over to George, who's delighting his niece and Teddy with some worryingly accurate impressions of the rest of the family.

At the other end of the table, Ron's tucking into his third plate of food, all thoughts of Malfoy forgotten whilst he's in mashed potato Heaven. A haphazard glance about the table brings his gaze to Hermione who's, what can only be described as, gawping at the messy-haired wizard to Ron's right. Ron looks at the wizard in question too, but can find no possible explanation for Hermione's continued staring. The rest of the table's occupants are too engrossed in their own conversations to notice anything amiss when Ron aims a light kick at Hermione's leg under the table; the young witch jumps at the contact before turning startled, brown eyes to him. In response to his silent questioning she merely turns a deep shade of pink and starts shovelling down her dinner in a decidedly un-Hermione-like manner.

Ron pays a little more attention to Hermione during the rest of dinner; so much so, that Harry delivers a swift kick of his own to the gangly redhead. Ron simply shrugs at his friend before rounding on Charlie with a series of questions regarding when he can next go and visit him in Romania. He's not really listening to his brother's answers though; instead he's casting furtive glances at his ex-girlfriend who's taken up her previous post of studying their bespectacled buddy. It soon dawns on him that he's witnessing the very thing he was so terrified of a few short years ago; she's falling for him. In all honesty, he's not surprised and, although it's a little weird seeing his ex-girlfriend moon over his best mate, it doesn't hurt him like it once would have done; _a unique little blonde may have something to do with that, _he smiles to himself. He's aware that most people consider him the dumbest of the trio, but Harry's pretty dense himself when it comes to girls, and he wonders how long it will take the young wizard to figure out their bookish friend's not-so-friendly feelings.

Once the dinner is cleared away, the group gathers round the tree for the traditional present exchange. Harry makes sure to seat himself in between Mr Weasley and Percy, to ensure no awkward altercations with his ex or her new beau. Everyone, including Harry, is a little shocked at how well chosen each of his gifts are. Mrs Weasley, in particular, is overjoyed with her Celestina Warbeck, Greatest Hits Collection, and Mr Weasley is enthralled with his muggle tool kit. Ginny and Ron are both a little stunned to receive complete sets of signed England quidditch robes, and he wonders how Hermione managed to get hold of them. As he watches Ginny and Malfoy dole out their own, mutually signed gifts, he can't help but feel torn between feeling sorry for the sly git, and a little gleeful, that no one other than Ginny and Hermione actually bought presents for him. He's diverted from his internal battle by Arthur, who innocently asks him, "What did you get Hermione? I must have dozed off when you passed her present over". Harry curses himself for the second time that day, before telling Arthur that he accidentally left Hermione's gift at home. The lie slips easily off his tongue but he feels more than a little guilty that his best friend has gone to so much trouble to help him out, and he's not even bought her a Christmas present; he vows to make it up to her as soon as they get home.

After the present-giving is over, Malfoy and Ginny bid a hasty goodbye and depart to spend the evening with Draco's parents. Harry lingers in the kitchen until they're gone, before helping Mrs Weasley pour everyone glasses of mulled wine and her own, sweet-smelling, Christmas punch. After all of the toasts, to both present and absent friends, Mrs Weasley puts her new CD on, which Harry finds more enjoyable after his fourth glass of punch. He finds himself stumbling into the kitchen, giggling about how silly present-less Draco looked, when a chilly breeze alerts him to the fact that the kitchen door is ajar. On his way to close it, he hears someone humming outside; the tune sounds a little like Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, but he really couldn't be sure. He steps outside to find Hermione twirling in some lightly falling snow; he thinks it's quite bizarre that the snow is only falling wherever Hermione steps, until he realises she has her wand out and the snow is all her own doing. He can't help admire her magical prowess; even when she's half-drunk she's brilliant.

He's not sure how long he's been watching her when she finally stops spinning and opens her twinkling brown eyes. She throws him a lazy smile upon spotting him and he can't help returning the gesture, stating, "You have a little snow in your hair, Miss Granger; you may want to step inside and dry off". "Are you going to help me?" Harry's startled into lucidity by the seductive undertone to her voice; his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish as he tries to fashion an appropriate response. He's saved the bother as his childhood friend saunters over to him, waving her wand at the space above his head. He looks up expecting snow to come tumbling down around him but, instead, he's confronted with a slowly materialising sprig of mistletoe. Hermione reaches him almost too quickly and he has no plan of action when she places her hands on his shoulders, raises herself onto her tiptoes and presses her soft, surprisingly warm lips to his. His mind shuts off at the connection and all he's aware of is her slim curves pressing against him, and her gentle lips urging him to reciprocate her kiss. As he wraps his arms around her back and starts to move his own lips in time with hers, he marvels at how natural this feels; to be kissing Hermione, _Hermione, _for Merlin's sake.

Hermione's elated to feel Harry responding to her advances and she's about to deepen the kiss further when a dreamy voice sounds out behind her, making the pair jump apart as though they've been stung; "Hello you two", Hermione turns to meet the serene gaze of one Luna Lovegood, "I'd be wary of that thing", she points at the suspended mistletoe, "I imagine it's full of nargles". With that she leaves the two red-faced, heavily breathing friends in an awkward silence, as she makes her way into the Burrow to greet the rest of the party. Hermione, for once, is at a loss for words; as her wine-addled brain starts to clear, and she realises that she's just snogged her best friend, she thinks it may be time to relocate to Australia with her parents.

Harry can't fully believe what's just happened; he's just made out with Hermione. He certainly has no complaints in regards to the kiss but, as he watches the mortified-looking witch head back inside without a backwards glance, he starts to wonder if maybe he's just made a huge mistake. He tries to convince himself that it won't affect their friendship; they'll be laughing about it tomorrow, if they can remember it at all that is. As he makes his own way back inside, though, he can't help cursing Luna for her appalling timing.


	4. Bridge over Troubled Water

**Author's Note:** _I am incredibly sorry about how long this has taken me to update; I'm afraid work has overtaken my life for the past few months. _

_I'm not particularly happy with this chapter, it's a bit of a filler but I just wanted to bring the Wizarding world a bit more in to focus, and just get back in to the story in general. Hopefully I'll have more time to work on the next chapter. _

_I own nothing, except my imagination and any mistakes in the story._

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**4. Bridge over Trouble Water**

_28__th__ December 2005_

The rotten old boat rocks over the choppy grey waters making Harry's stomach churn. The wizened old boatman grins knowingly at him; three brown stumps protruding from blackened gums. This is not the first time Harry has made this particular trip nor, he assumes, will it be his last. His very first excursion to the repulsive stone-grey building in the middle of the sea resulted in him emptying his stomach over the side of the boat; although he's long since been able to keep his breakfast down, he can't fight the trickle of dread that slithers down his spine when he thinks about what awaits him inside Azkaban. It never gets easier.

The ministry, under pressure from scared and angry witches and wizards, took a zero tolerance stance on the use of any unforgivable curse. A new law was passed in the years after the Great Battle that meant any witch or wizard, regardless of age, could be tried as an adult if they were suspected of using an unforgivable curse; the punishment was a one way ticket to Azkaban and, for those 15 and over, the dementors kiss. Personally, Harry felt the new law to be barbaric, he'd contested it many times with the Minister of Magic, but Kingsley insisted his hands were tied. Due to the tales of evil committed by a young Tom Riddle, the majority of the public felt any youngster showing even the smallest hint of immorality needed to be dealt with severely. Harry wishes the ministry could be rational for once; rather than running on fear and hatred.

Harry is jolted from his dark thoughts by the small vessel bumping in to the landing bay. He grudgingly accepts the gnarled, scabby hand of the boatman as he clambers ungracefully out of the boat, "Thanks, Melman, I'll try not to be too long". Melman winks one steely grey eye at Harry, "Ah, take yer time matey, I've got nowt better to be doing. Give the wee mite my regards". Harry can hear him laughing all the way up to the entrance; he despises Melman with a passion, but there's no other way to get over to the prison.

There are six guards appointed to the security of Azkaban, and the wizards work their shifts in pairs. They have two jobs; to show any potential visitors to the visitor's chambers, and to keep the dementors in check. Harry doesn't envy them. A giant bull of a man opens the door to Harry; he looks like a cross between Hagrid and Ron which, Harry thinks, would be funny, if he saw him anywhere other than this hellhole. Gillian doesn't smile at Harry, he doesn't really acknowledge him at all, and he only moves an inch to the side so the young Auror can squeeze into the cold corridor, before shutting and magically bolting the door behind him. The redheaded giant leads Harry up a winding stone staircase, his bulky figure filling the whole of the stairway, blocking out the light from his wand. Harry welcomes the darkness; it allows him to focus on shutting out the anguished wails coming from the hundreds of cells.

He knows Gillian, of all the guards, disapproves of him being at these proceedings the most, but Harry finds himself unable to ignore the desperate pleas of mothers and fathers who are not allowed to hold their child's hand as they are stripped of their last link to humanity. It's with a heavy heart that he follows the silent giant into a cold chamber reserved especially for such occasions. A young boy of 15 is lying flat on a stone bed, bound with invisible ropes to ensure he won't run; where exactly he'd run to , Harry isn't sure.

The youngster's skin is waxy yellow and stretched over his cheek bones, Azkaban has eaten away his figure as the dementors are about to eat his soul. As has become custom, Harry is left alone with the young prisoner for a short while. He seats himself next to the prostrate form and finds wild, feverish blue eyes when he brushes a fringe of sweaty blonde hair off of the boy's forehead. "Timmy?" Harry keeps his voice low and soothing, so as not to spook him, "Timmy, can you hear me?" Harry takes the slight jerk of the boy's head as a yes. "Your mother asked me to come here today and stay with you for a little while; she wanted to be here herself but she's not allowed, you understand?" The young wizard remains silent so Harry continues, "Do you understand what's going to happen today, Timmy?" This time a weak, timid voice responds, "I don't want to die, please, I'm sorry for what I did, please help me". Harry has to force his voice past the lump in his throat, "It's okay, son, everything will be alright". He's said this lie so many times now, and every time it trips off his tongue he feels a piece of his own soul being stripped away.

"Timmy," he continues stroking the boy's hair whilst he talks to him, "why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself? What's your favourite school subject? How many siblings do you have?" Harry asks these questions to every young prisoner, hoping to calm them down before the terror of the dementors kiss overtakes them; he knows it's the right decision when Timmy's gaunt face breaks out into a serene smile as he begins reminiscing about happier times, when he had his whole life ahead of him. "I love flying more than anything else; it makes me feel so free. My Mama was so proud when I was picked as a Chaser. She comes to all of my games. My brother's not too good with flying, he's better with his potions and charms. But, you know, she's always supported both of us, even though I got sorted in to Gryffindor, when the whole family are Slytherins". Timmy's confession reminds Harry of his Godfather; Sirius was always seen as the black sheep of the family for being a Gryffindor too, unfortunately Mrs Black wasn't quite as understanding as Timmy's mother. "Mother always wanted me to be a professional quidditch player, she's convinced I'm better than anyone playing today, I'm not so sure though. I think I'd like to take over from Madam Hooch at Hogwarts, she told me she's planning on retiring in a few years. I think I'd enjoy that". Harry can't help the lump that forms in his throat as the young boy momentarily forgets that all of his dreams and aspirations are about to be ripped from him in the most despicable way imaginable.

Timmy's jaw suddenly becomes slack, and Harry has to avert his eyes from the sheer terror radiating from the young boy's blue orbs. There's no need for Harry to ask what's brought on the sudden change; his own insides are knotted with dread and icy beads of sweat are trickling down his sides, causing his shirt to stick to his trembling body. Harry focuses solely on stroking Timmy's hair with a relatively steady hand, and he refuses to acknowledge the cloaked fiends that have entered the room; the dementors have orders not to touch Harry but they still affect him terribly. He tries valiantly to block out the images assaulting his brain but no matter how much he focuses on Timmy's struggle and his cries for mercy, Harry cannot block out the sound of his mother screaming.

As the black figures swoop on the boy, one after the other, Harry keeps his eyes locked on the young wizard's. He forces himself to endure this time after time so these poor souls don't have to suffer alone, so they can squeeze his hand or just take some comfort from his presence. He knows, deep down, that they don't remember, once it's over, that his being there may make absolutely no difference at all, in the end; but, it makes a difference to the bereft parents and maybe it helps the damned a little too, so Harry will keep on coming.

Harry stays with the boy once it's over, takes in the milky sheen to those once bright, blue eyes and he says a prayer. He's never been religious, and he's still not sure who exactly he's praying to, but it feels right, somehow. Eventually, Gillian returns to the room, signalling that Harry's overstayed his welcome. Harry trudges back down to the boat with a heavy heart. Every single time he watches a young life being ripped away he's transported back to a night many moons ago when he witnessed Sirius' soul being stolen and he wishes, more than anything, that he could save these souls like he did for his godfather. He wishes now, more than at any other time that Sirius was still here; with Hermione doing her best to avoid him at all costs, and Ron suspiciously absent as well, he's missing his godfather more than usual.

Since their drunken kiss at Christmas, Harry has only seen his bushy-haired friend once as she tried to sneak out of the house extra early for her shift at the hospital. Unfortunately for her, Harry was up early himself getting ready for an early morning jog before work. His plan was to substitute his alcoholic binges with exercise but after their awkward exchange, and with Hermione making it more than clear that snogging him was a ridiculous mistake, he'd decided a small glass of firewhiskey couldn't hurt. He thinks a large glass, or maybe just the bottle is what he'll need tonight. He ignores Melman's wisecracks and cruel jibes on the way back; he focuses all of his attention on the waves crashing against the side of the boat, revelling in the salty spray washing over his already damp body.

Once back at Grimmauld Place, Harry digs out a bottle of Southern Comfort he'd received from Hermione's parents for Christmas; he's hunting in one of the cupboards for a tumbler when a soft voice anxiously asks, "Is there enough for two?" Once again Harry fights to control his shaking limbs as he reaches for a second glass for his roommate. Hermione doesn't ask him how his day was, she doesn't mention Azkaban, or dementors, or criticise his reliance on alcohol, instead she rambles on about the most unusual ailments she'd come across at the hospital over the week; Harry finds himself laughing along with her as she acts out one woman's unfortunate curse of uncontrollable break dancing. Once they've both calmed down, and Hermione takes the almost untouched bottle back to the cupboard, Harry can't help but admire his friend; she's certainly become somewhat curvier since their school days, he can't believe he's never before noticed how well she fills her jeans. Harry almost misses the blush spreading over Hermione's skin when she turns back around to find him staring intently at her rear, the concentration on his face almost rivalling her own during exam revision sessions.

She smiles shyly at him when he eventually lifts his eyes to her face, and he's struck by how beautiful she is. Before he can stop himself, he's crossing the kitchen until he's standing directly in front of her. Her smile falters a little at his sudden closeness and, before she can bolt for the door, he places his hands on the worktop either side of her waist. "Hey", he whispers, sending Hermione into a fit of nervous giggles. He finds himself laughing along with her until her breath catches in her throat as his hands slide up her sides to lightly grip her waist.

When their lips meet, neither is surprised and Hermione revels in the feel of Harry's stubble against her skin as she runs her hands over his cheeks before brushing them through his messy hair whilst Harry's own hands slide under her top. He smiles as she moans against his mouth; he never thought he could feel so deliciously alive just from kissing someone, from kissing Hermione. He's about to deepen the kiss when the young witch pulls away from him, eliciting a guttural groan from the raven-haired wizard. Hermione rests her forehead against Harry's and he takes the brief respite to take in her soft features, her dark lashes resting against her creamy skin, and her rosy lips, fuller and darker than they were just a few moments earlier. He places an errant strand of wavy hair behind her ear and smiles again as she leans in to his touch, "Harry", she breathes out, and he realises he's never really appreciated the sound of his own name before, "We can't", she continues, in that same breathy tone. "Don't say that", he sounds desperate, even to his own ears, "I need you, Hermione". She smiles sadly at him, and places a soft, warm kiss to the corner of his mouth, "I'm sorry" she whispers before disentangling herself from his arms and walking away, leaving Harry standing alone in the kitchen. This time, when he reaches for the bottle of liquor, there's no doubt in his mind that it will be empty by the end of the night.


	5. Beautiful Disaster

**Author's Note:** _So, this instalment is a little different, mainly as it doesn't actually have Harry physically present, but I think it was needed to get a little perspective on other characters' actions and motivations._

_Also, although this story is book compliant, there are a couple of things from the films that I now consider canon...such as Bellatrix carving mudblood into Hermione's skin, and the dance in the tent (which made me all kinds of happy)._

_Anyway, my apologies for any spelling/grammatical mistakes in this chapter, hopefully it's turned out okay. Reviews are always welcome. Enjoy :)_

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**5. Beautiful Disaster**

_29__th__ December 2005_

Malfoy Manor 2.0 is just as big and showy as the original however, the inside is more modern and mostly monochrome. It hurts Hermione's eyes to look too long at any one place. She's glad, at any rate, that the decor is miles apart from Malfoy's family home; she doesn't think she'd be able to stomach the memories that would stir up. She unconsciously rubs at the green sleeve covering her only physical reminder of the Great War as she watches her friend of 12 years glide around the vast polished kitchen like she's lived here her whole life.

Like Percy, Ginny had always seemed like she was itching to escape the homely comforts of the Burrow and, Hermione thinks, she's finally found the nest where she can fully spread her wings and not be the youngest Weasley, or the only daughter, but just Ginny. The freedom suits her. Still, Hermione cannot keep herself from asking, "Gin, is it not a little soon to be shacking up with him? I mean, you've only just come out of a six-year relationship and, honestly, you barely even spent a fortnight alone with Harry in all that time, never mind actually living with someone". Ginny doesn't seem surprised by Hermione's concerns, it is Hermione after all, but when she finally joins the observant Healer at the breakfast bar the older witch is shocked to see unshed tears glistening in her blue eyes. "Listen, Hermione, there are things you don't understand," it's so strange to hear the young redhead sounding so vulnerable and nervous that she immediately has Hermione's full attention. Hermione presses the younger woman's hand gently, where it rests atop her leg, encouraging her to continue, "You know you can tell me anything, Ginny".

Hermione watches the deep crease forming in between the gorgeous redhead's perfectly plucked eyebrows as she weighs up the pro's and con's of baring her soul to her friend. Eventually, after a few deep breaths, she starts to reveal her secrets to her captive audience, "The thing is, you see, Draco's had some...difficulties adjusting since the war. He went through so much, and I'm not saying Harry didn't", she quickly adds, before Hermione can jump in with a cutting comment, "but, you see, Harry's always had you and Ron, not to mention my whole family and the countless supporters and fanwitches he could rely on. And he had me, of course. Draco's been so alone, Hermione. His so called friends were really just using him for his money and influence. His father, who he spent his whole life trying to impress, turned out to be a pathetic old man who drinks away his guilt; you know, he's barely ever sober now. And his mother, well, she's like a shadow of the woman she used to be. I mean, the woman hardly ever leaves the house; she just fusses around her useless husband all day, or sits crying in a corner if Draco is even five minutes late to dinner. They put so much pressure on him all the time, they always have done, and he's had to deal with this alone for so long, but now he has me. Don't you see, Hermione? He needs me".

It takes a moment for Hermione to process Ginny's speech: she's torn between feeling pity for Draco and anger that Ginny can forget all he and his family put them through. All she can verbalise, though, is "What about Harry? Does he just not matter anymore? Gin, I watched you moon over him for years, cry for him, fight for him... How could you throw it all away, just like that?" Ginny sighs, like an exasperated mother trying to explain a simple concept to her child. "Of course Harry matters. And I may have 'mooned' over him, as you so eloquently put it, but I'm not a child anymore, Hermione. Harry was my hero, I spent my whole adolescence idolising him and wanting to save him but, in the end, he didn't really need me. I spent so long trying to fix him and distract him from the hell he was going through, but I was never enough for him". Hermione can feel her face burning up in indignation on Harry's behalf, "How...how can you say that? Harry loves you, Ginny, he wants to marry you for Merlin's sake! You can't just write his feelings off to eradicate _your_ guilt!"

Ginny sighs again, and the sound is really starting to grate on Hermione's nerves. "I'm not saying he didn't love me, Hermione, or that I never loved him. But, honestly, we were children when we met, children when we started a love affair in the middle of a war. I was safe to him, I represented a normal life, or as normal as he could hope for. I think we both clung to the ideal of that and maybe it gave him something to live for, I'm glad if it did. After the war, he was so lost Hermione, so broken, I just wanted to shelter him and keep him safe, love him. At some point, though, he stopped being my hero, he was everyone else's hero; he's not the boy I fell in love with, and I'm not the girl he fell in love with. We're not children anymore and I've finally stopped clinging to the past...it's time he did too". Hermione just stares agape at the woman before her, but before she can form an appropriate response Ginny continues, somewhat wistfully, "I loved Harry Potter, the Boy-who-Lived; the Hero who just wanted to be normal. Don't get me wrong, I love Harry as he is, the real Harry, but I was more in love with the idea of him, I think. I never meant to hurt him, but the longer I stayed with him the less I could envision us having a future together. I tried, Hermione, I wanted to be that person for him, but then I met Draco again, and I discovered what it really means to be in love. You can't hate me for that; you, more than anyone, should understand".

Hermione is transported back almost two years, by Ginny's words, to her own break up; Ron's pathetic blubbering, his pleas for her to reconsider. She wipes the image from her mind quickly, uncomfortable with the guilt that still weighs heavily on her heart over hurting one of her closest friends. Maybe Ginny has a point, she thinks; she too stayed in a relationship formed during her confusing childhood because she thought it was the right thing to do. She prayed she'd one day feel as passionate about her redheaded boyfriend as he did about her, and as she was starting to about their dark-haired buddy. The guilt rages anew then, as she wonders whether it's worse to fall for your boyfriend's best friend, or his childhood nemesis. She turns her guilty brown eyes to her friend and, without even considering what she's about to do, blurts out, "I'm in love with Harry".

She's expecting yelling, maybe a slap from the feisty Gryffindor, but Ginny just offers her a sympathetic smile and simply states, "I know". Hermione's mouth opens and closes wordlessly for a few seconds before she once again finds her voice, "What?! How can you...what do you mean, you know?" Ginny laughs, but the sound is not unkind, "Oh, Mione", she uses the old nickname that her friend has become accustomed to over the years, "I've known for years". She smiles a little guiltily, before she continues, "Everyone used to say it, didn't they? They all thought something was going on between the two of you. I used to tell myself and anyone who dared voice it to me, that it was utter codswallop, but I was always on the lookout for signs. It was after you got back from Australia, after you'd reversed the memory charm on your parents, that I first noticed something. You'd been gone so long and he was so anxious to see you. He was...angry, almost, that Ron insisted on being the one to see you first. I brushed it off initially; convincing myself that he was just adjusting to being the third wheel in the friendship. But then I saw you together, the way you fussed over him, hugged him just a little too long; your eyes barely left him the whole night, do you remember?"

Hermione can feel her whole body flushing at the recollection; she'd missed him so much more than she had Ron, _not that she'd ever admit that to anyone_. When she'd gotten back she'd just wanted to be sure he was alright, that he was eating, sleeping and coping. She hadn't meant to be so obvious or overzealous in her attentions, she hadn't even noticed it herself until Ron had made a gruff comment three days later, after she'd mentioned Harry's name one too many times. She was more careful after that. When she found herself thinking about him too much she'd enquire as to how Ron was doing, or bake him a cake from scratch, or take him to bed. It sickens her how many times she had to stop herself from calling out Harry's name, especially in the last year of their relationship.

"Why didn't you say anything?" she ventures. Ginny gently laces her fingers through Hermione's, "I was scared", she admits, "I thought that if I voiced my concerns they would become all too real to deal with. I was still crazy about him at the time; still had our whole future mapped out, and I thought that if he woke up and realised he could have you instead, that I'd lose everything I'd spent so long trying to build up. I couldn't risk it". Hermione scoffs disbelieving at her friend, "Why on earth would Harry look twice at me, when he had a gorgeous, funny, quidditch-playing girlfriend? He only ever saw me as a friend, or a s_ister_". She thinks that disgusts her more than anything; he spent years telling anyone who would listen that they were like siblings, she did too until she started having very un-sisterly thoughts about him. Ginny shakes her head sadly at the brunette, "Honestly, Hermione, Ron's obviously rubbed off on you! Harry's never had a sister, how would he know if you were like one or not? And he usually said that when someone made a comment about your relationship; he just wanted to protect you, and get Ron off his back, I imagine. You're the one who's always been there for him, even when he hasn't realised or appreciated it, and you're the one he turns to all the time; more so than Ron or me. It's always been there, Hermione, it was just a matter of who'd wake up and admit it first".

Ginny gets up to make the tea she'd been preparing when Hermione had first arrived, leaving the older witch to wrestle with her warring emotions. She thinks she may have just received Ginny's blessing to pursue a relationship with her best friend but, she's not sure whether a certain other Weasley would be quite so understanding. Ron was always so vocal about his suspicions regarding their relationship, even suggesting that Harry was the cause of Hermione dumping him –_which she vehemently denied at the time, of course. _She feels as though she's in a good place with Ron right now, and she really doesn't want to test how fragile their bond may be just yet. Plus, she's 99.9 per cent sure that Harry is still in love with Ginny. The redhead may be able to pass off her own feelings as nothing more than a childhood infatuation, but Hermione's not so convinced that Harry's feelings were that of a confused little boy. His recent heartbreak certainly seems genuine enough and she really doesn't want to be another knot on his wand, like the string of women he's bedded since the split. She thinks it's best to let sleeping dragons lie for now, and she can't help cursing herself for drunkenly kissing him at Christmas, and for letting him kiss her again. She really needs to nip this in the bud before he transfers all of his Ginny-feelings onto her and she becomes his pathetic and eager little rebound. _That would be mortifying. _

A steaming mug of tea is plonked on the counter, jolting Hermione from her reverie. Before Ginny can resume their conversation, Hermione plasters on her toothiest smile and asks, "So, how's work?" Ginny, receiving the message loud and clear that their previous conversation is over, starts chattering on about preparation for the new season, their potential new keeper and various strategies that Hermione only half understands. The two women pass the rest of the afternoon pleasantly until Hermione jumps up to leave at ten to four, suddenly recollecting that she has an urgent errand to run; both girls know Hermione is leaving because, despite her politeness to him at the Burrow, she cannot look at Draco without seeing his deranged Aunt on top of her, carving into her skin and branding her for life. Ginny doesn't mention it, and Hermione gratefully accepts her hug before departing before Draco gets back from work.

Later that night, Ginny lays in bed listening to Draco's shallow breathing, thinking about all the things she didn't tell Hermione: Like how Draco often awakens in the middle of the night screaming himself hoarse as he relives his time as an honorary Death Eater. How he'll only calm down after Ginny has spent an age trying to soothe him with soft caresses and whispered words of love and comfort. He usually falls asleep in her arms, panting like a rabid dog and shivering despite the sweat covering his slim body. She didn't tell Hermione that she spends night after night awake, watching his chest rise and fall in the moonlight, _they have to keep the curtains open as he's terrified of the dark, _she's scared that if she closes her eyes for even a moment, he'll disappear forever, and she can't bear to be parted from him. She usually passes out as the sun starts creeping over the horizon, and she feels surer of his safety.

She also failed to mention that, despite Narcissa's efforts to welcome her in to the family, Lucius can never hide his disgust that his son has fallen in love with a blood traitor. He refuses to acknowledge her presence when she's in his house, and only refers to her as 'the weasel' or 'the stupid little bitch' when he's berating his son over the relationship. The strain of the constant battle he has to endure with his father is always palpable in Draco's tense muscles but, ever the dutiful son, he cannot turn his back on his mother, so he suffers his father's disdain almost daily. He tries to spare Ginny's feelings, by going alone, but she feels so guilty about being the cause of the friction that she often goes with him anyway. She spends half of her time there talking about any old rubbish to Narcissa, who's never listening anyway, just staring at the door, wincing every time the voices in the next room get too loud, and waiting for her son to storm in and announce that he and Ginny are leaving. She always clings to him as long as she can when he tries to leave; he has to physically prise her arms from around him, promising her that he will call again the next day. Ginny hates Narcissa even more than Lucius because she knows the hold she has over her son, and she knows she has the means to leave her husband, easing the strain on her only child, but she never does. Instead she wallows in self-pity and lets her son fall deeper and deeper into his misery.

Ginny kept all of this from Hermione, not because she doesn't trust her but because Draco would be mortified if people knew how truly vulnerable he really is; he hates pity above anything else, he'd rather be hated than pitied. She remains watching her blonde-haired lover in the waning moonlight, marvelling in his ethereal beauty and praying, as she does every night, that she can help him to battle his demons and save him from his internal torment. She falls into a dreamless sleep as the first rays of sunlight start streaming through the window; she doesn't witness Draco's icy eyes opening, she misses the soft smile that graces his thin lips as he watches her fidget in her sleep, and she doesn't notice when he presses light kisses to her freckled cheeks. He's gone when she wakes up.


End file.
